


Threnody

by Laora



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Gen, Here's a proper epilogue scene for his link, Nozomi could have been such an interesting character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora
Summary: In February, Nozomi shares a meal with Minato.[You know,” Minato says suddenly, “I had a twin sister.”]





	Threnody

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through the end of the Journey.
> 
> I have **three** birthday fics I need to write and what do I do? Write something else entirely. Go me!
> 
> This fic was inspired by my Nozomi scene for [Long May You Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891899/chapters/31965930), though it stands on its own. I've also included two of my headcanons: that the Minato+Hamuko twin AU is canon, and that the cult Nozomi was so obsessed with was Takaya's Nyx cult.
> 
> I'm still miffed about Nozomi. Like, he could have had such a great social link? Give me a Gourmet King who loves food, and is still mourning his brother, and joins the cult to try and fill the hole his death left. Like, don't just tell us about the dead brother at the very end of the link when it's the most important and interesting part of his growth? /grump

_**threnody:** a wailing song of mourning composed as a memorial to the dead _

* * *

 

Nozomi isn’t sure what compels him to invite Minato out to dinner, two weeks after the Fall didn’t happen.

He’s lost sleep, lost motivation, lost even his _appetite_. The cult all but disappeared on February 1, after he woke up exhausted but _alive_ when he should have transcended. He has no idea what happened—whether Nyx was a hoax, or whether something impeded the Fall—and now, with Takaya and Jin missing and the cult dissolved, he has no one left to ask. He is reeling and lost and so maybe that is why he calls up his only friend, asking if he wants to get dinner at Hagakure—offering to pay for everything, because it’s the least he can do, right?

Minato’s silent for a few seconds, and Nozomi is sure he’s trying to think of a nice way to turn him down. After all, he has plenty of dormmates to hang out with who he’s sure he likes better. “I’ve got a better idea,” Minato says. “What’s the best restaurant in town? I’ll meet you there, and I can pay for both our meals.”

Nozomi blinks, mentally carding through Iwatodai’s culinary offerings. Eventually he must settle on the high-end sushi restaurant near Gekkoukan, but—”It’s really expensive,” he says. “I can pay for my half if you want—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Minato says, and Nozomi thinks he hears a smile in his friend’s voice, despite his clear exhaustion. “I’ll meet you there tomorrow at six.”  

Nozomi frowns, but decides not to question it—free food, after all, is nothing to scoff at. He’s sitting on a bench outside the restaurant the next day, though, frowning at the street before him. Minato’s late. He’s never known his friend to just ditch him with no warning, but…

But then he comes up from the train station, listing a little bit, his hands in his pockets and his head down as he walks forward slowly. Nozomi frowns—even from this distance, he can see that something is wrong. Minato hesitates for several seconds at the foot of the small flight of steps, apparently catching his breath, holding tight to the handrail—before slowly, finally, starting to walk up.

Nozomi settles back down on his bench from where he was planning to go help him, his frown growing even deeper as Minato arrives at his bench.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as greeting. “My nap went a little long.”

He makes no mention of his obvious unsteadiness as he leads the way into the restaurant, so Nozomi decides not to say anything about it, either. “I can help pay if the bill gets too high,” he offers, a little half-heartedly, but Minato smiles, waving a hand at him.

“I’ve got some money saved up,” he says. “Figure it’s as good a time to spend it as any.”

The hostess does not recognize Nozomi—the insult stings, but Minato does not give him time to dwell on it. They sit at the counter and place their orders without a word to each other. Nozomi does his best to order something modest, though most of the items on the menu approach 10,000 yen, and his appetite is prohibitively large. Minato, though, orders an enormous platter—and Nozomi finds himself gaping as the chef turns away.

“How are you holding up?” Minato asks, before he can press about his unusual spending. “With the cult disappearing? I know you were really into the Fall.”

Nozomi blinks, looking sideways at his friend. Whenever he started proselytizing with Minato around, his face always got a little strained, and he did his best to steer the conversation away from Nyx. But his face is open and neutral, now.

He's always found it hard to lie to Minato, and this time is no exception. “It’s hard,” he says after another moment, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I don’t really know what to do with myself, now that I know I’m not going to die soon.”

Minato considers him for several seconds, a little frown growing on his face. “I thought you wanted to tour the world and try different foods,” he says, and Nozomi nods.

“That’s going to last six months—but what do I do then? I write a book, I give a talk show interview. I’ve got my whole life to figure out, and…”

He trails off, feeling suddenly sick at the thought. “I don’t know what to do,” he says, a little quieter. Minato doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Do whatever you want to do,” he says, and it would be trite if he didn’t continue—”Figure out what kind of impact you want to make on the world, and build from there. You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out, right? If the first thing doesn’t work out, just try something else.”

“What are _you_ going to do?” he asks, not meaning it to come out clipped though it does anyway. “You’ve got it all figured out, right?”

Minato smiles a little, as if Nozomi’s made a joke. “Not really,” he says eventually. “I’ve always just wanted to help people. That’s all.”

Nozomi thinks on this—it seems like a very _Minato_ thing to say. And then he thinks a moment longer, and realizes he’s succeeded. “You’ve already helped me,” he says. “I mean, you’re still my friend, after all that shit I pulled. And…”

He trails off, the memory of his brother suddenly painful. They were—they were _twins,_ and he was such an ass to him, and now his brother is—  

He’s been dead for almost four years. Why is it only within the last few months that the grief has finally caught up? Now that he has finally accepted that he can be his own person, living outside of his dead twin’s shadow?

Minato hesitates, as if wondering whether he’ll continue. “Of course you’re my friend,” he says eventually, putting his elbows on the counter and leaning forward. “You’ve helped me too, you know. I wouldn’t be where I am without you and the rest of the friends I’ve made here.”

Nozomi scoffs, but Minato turns his head to look him dead in the eye. “I’m serious,” he says, his voice a little stronger. “Don’t sell yourself short. Our friendship means a lot to me, more than—more than I can really explain.”

Nozomi isn’t really sure how to respond to this; he’s never been one to talk about his feelings, and he’s assumed Minato to be the same way. “I was a jerk to you,” he says, because it’s true, and he’s been a jerk for most of his life, and the fact that this is only catching up to him now is horrifying. “You didn’t want to hear about the Fall, but I wouldn’t stop talking about it anyway—and—”

“And you’ve changed since then,” he cuts him off; Nozomi’s jaw snaps shut. “Hell, you’ve changed in the last _two_ _weeks,_ right? Now that the Fall didn’t happen...you seem different than you did before.”

He’s not quite sure how to take this, but is starting to think that Minato might be right. But there’s still—”My brother,” he says, very quietly, and Minato frowns a little, leaning closer. “He’s not around anymore for me to apologize to, so I can’t—” he chokes off, and finds himself, in horror, wiping at his eyes in this expensive restaurant.

“He already knows,” Minato says, just as quietly, and does not elaborate.

Nozomi takes a few seconds to compose himself, embarrassed and angry that the emotions he didn’t feel even when he was fourteen are suddenly at the forefront of his mind. Their food arrives, and Minato has to rearrange utensils and condiments to make room for his platter—and ignores the chef’s skeptical look as he picks up his chopsticks.

The two of them eat in silence for several minutes; Minato pointedly nudges the platter closer to Nozomi’s plate, and he frowns but eventually takes some of the sushi for his own. His friend doesn’t seem to be eating much, though he looks content to slowly chew each bite he puts in his mouth. He seems just as lost in thought as Nozomi is.

“You know,” Minato says suddenly, when the food is nearly gone. Nozomi turns, but he isn’t looking at him—staring instead at his plate. “I had a twin sister.”

He feels everything _shift,_ then—as if the world’s axis turned a bit more on its side, or moved a few feet to the left. “What?” he asks, a little loud, too shocked to say anything else. Minato shakes his head.

“She died when we were six. On the Moonlight Bridge, with our parents.”

Nozomi only continues to stare, unsure how to process this brand new information. It’s true, Minato has never been forthcoming about his personal life—has only mentioned that he lives in the dorms, that he’s at Gekkoukan on a scholarship. And everyone knows about the disaster eleven years ago, but—

 _I’m sorry_ is too trite, doesn’t convey anything meaningful, and Nozomi hated hearing it himself. He swallows his last bite of sushi, scarcely tasting it, trying to think of what to say. “How did you cope?” he asks eventually. Minato laughs quietly, looking up at him.

“I didn’t,” he says, “until I moved here, and made friends, and found a reason for living.”

He isn’t sure what to say to this. _You’ve helped me too,_ Minato said, and Nozomi feels selfish all over again for never bothering to listen to his friend’s troubles in turn. “What did you find?” he asks eventually, and Minato’s smile grows broader. The dim light of the restaurant accentuates cheekbones gaunter than Nozomi remembers—highlights dark bags beneath his eyes. He realizes, all of a sudden, that something is very wrong.

“Everyone’s reason is different,” he says. “But I found that if you put more love into the world, and care about the people around you...you’ll be able to do more than you could by yourself.”

Nozomi considers this, and Minato looks at him a moment longer before turning to the chef, telling him he wants to order some food to go. As he lists off several types of sushi from memory, as the chef’s brows grow steadily higher, Nozomi thinks he starts to realize what he means.

“And whatever my friend would like,” Minato finishes, turning back to him, and Nozomi sputters but eventually orders a spicy tuna.

“I’m gonna need to see some payment before I put this order in, kid,” the chef says, looking more skeptical still. Minato digs in his bag, pulls out his wallet, and passes a wad of bills to the chef.

“Keep the change,” he says with a smile, and the chef’s eyes bulge.

He bows a bit before hurrying off, and Nozomi stares at his friend. “What are you doing?” he asks eventually, his voice a little choked.

“Getting dinner for my dormmates,” he says with a little shrug. “We don’t eat out a lot, Mitsuru just has stuff delivered, so we don’t really get sushi unless we go out for it specifically.”

“No, I mean—” Nozomi gestures widely at the restaurant, the chef, the wallet he’s tucking away. “That must have been over a hundred thousand yen—why would you—?”

“Because I care about my friends,” he says, and does not elaborate.

“What’s going on?” Nozomi presses, leaning back in his chair. Waiting for such a large to-go order will take a while, and the more he looks at Minato, the more sick he appears to be. “Why are you—”

“I’m really glad to see you’re doing all right,” Minato cuts him off. Nozomi would be outraged, but he doesn’t have the heart when he sees the calm look on his friend’s face. “I was a little worried, after the Fall, but I should have known you’d be fine.”

Nozomi chews on his tongue, trying to figure out how to reroute this conversation when Minato seems so interested in keeping it away from himself. But his friend continues—”As for your brother...I think he understands. Don’t carry that guilt, all right?”

“But he was my _brother,_ ” Nozomi stresses. Minato shakes his head.

“I miss Hamuko and my parents a lot, too,” he says, “and even though we were so young, I do have regrets for their deaths. I still think about what would have happened if things had gone differently.” His gaze goes unfocused for a second, his hands wrapping more tightly around each other. “But I’ve learned to live for them, and I’d like to think they’d be proud of me. I think your brother would be for you, too.”

“He has _nothing_ to be proud of me for,” Nozomi says, thinking of the abuse he heaped on his little brother—his awful behavior, this past year and in his whole life. He—

“So do things he would be proud of,” Minato says, something like a challenge behind his eyes though his smile does not waver. “You’ve got your whole life to fix it, right?”

Nozomi swallows, blinks, and realizes he doesn’t have a good answer for him. They sit in silence for several minutes longer until the chef comes back, a large bag in one hand and some bills in the other. “You’re sure you didn’t want change, sir?” he asks, passing the bag over the counter. “That’s quite a—”

“I’m sure,” Minato says, digging quickly through the bag to find Nozomi’s food and passing it to him before standing up. “Thanks for dinner, it was delicious.”

“You’re very welcome,” the chef says, still looking a little dazzled as Nozomi stands as well. Minato seems to need to find his balance before moving toward the door, and he’s tilting a little with the weight of the bag as they step outside.

“Do you want any help?” Nozomi asks, finally, because Minato seems intent on pretending he is fine.

“I’ll be okay,” he says with a smile, though he seems very unsteady as he descends the stairs, holding tight to the handrail. “Hang on, I’ve got something for you—”

Nozomi watches in disbelief as Minato sets the take-out on the ground and then digs in his bag. He pulls out a leftover container with something...unique inside, and Minato laughs at Nozomi’s expression as he hands it over.

“It’s like the thing I brought you, months ago,” he says, and Nozomi remembers that clearly. A strange gravy he had never tasted before: a novelty, no matter how awful the taste. “We’ve just been calling it an odd morsel—I’ve tried to eat it, but there’s always been...side effects. I figure if anyone could stomach it, it would be you.”

Nozomi blinks, wondering whether he should be offended, but the clear humor on his friend’s face makes it clear he means no harm. “I’ll let you know what I think of it,” he says eventually, tucking it into his own school bag—and Minato’s smile grows wider.

“Hey, let me know before you leave the country, all right?” he asks. “Maybe we can hang out again—my schedule’s pretty open.”

“Sure,” he says. He wonders at his friend’s formerly busy schedule, the way second-year finals are looming. He wonders at the way Minato has seemed so lonely these past few weeks, in the school foyer, when before he was surrounded by friends from the dorm.

He wonders but knows Minato will never answer his questions—and so swallows them down, adjusts the strap on his shoulder, and says, “I’ll let you know when I’m back, too—you’ll want to try some of this food!”

Minato’s quiet for a few seconds as he leans down to pick up the sushi again. “Sounds great,” he says warmly, though Nozomi thinks his smile might have dimmed a little. Before he can question it, though, Minato has turned away, walking toward the train station.

Nozomi stares after him for a few moments, considering calling him back for a proper goodbye, or to bother him about his health. But, after all, he will see him later—so he clutches his bag a little tighter, and makes his own way home.


End file.
